See Rome, and look sharp.
On Crete, a Mother of film,
wants luscious delusions.
Grassed, as in no denial, . . .
Respect, without peeking. I'm all about bed.
Come and pet some party cares, perhaps you heard.
Friday, the dead all howl by then.
Tell us, is delight like some discovery?
Grip on!
Would it be tearful if I make a man money?
Gave skirts a still body?
She has the last big demand,
to fill our wild Kate,
On your next day home.
9/6/06, with Jojo Monson, 30, 31, 32
The Muse Poems:
